O Come Let Us Assemble

I think it’s very healthy to spend time alone.You need to know how to be alone and not defined by another person. Olivia Wilde

We don’t get a lot of snow in Western Washington in the lower elevations along the Puget Sound. When we do, it generally falls in January and February. However, a few weeks ago there were snow flurries here where I live, and heavier snow storms were wreaking havoc up in the mountain passes. While I don’t usually worry about shoveling snow by hand, last year I found the snow wetter and heavier than normal. It was what is often referred to as “widow-maker snow,” and I am at an age where that certainly feels a lot more prophetic than poetic.

Consequently, I drove around to our local hardware and big box stores and discovered, much to my dismay, that others had been quicker on the draw and scarfed up all the decently priced snow blowers that had been in stock. That meant I had to order mine online and have it delivered, which is what I did.

I knew it would have to be assembled, but I never worry about things like that. I’m not exactly a mechanical genius, but I do know how to read instructions and watch educational videos. I know the difference between a sledge hammer and a screw driver (one drives screws in a LOT faster), so I never approach the assemblage of goodies with fear or trepidation. 

I do, however, approach such tasks with caution, for it seems I have a smattering of dyslexia when it comes to reading diagrams. I simply cannot convert a two dimensional drawing into a three dimensional activity. I also have a knack for always (and I do mean “always”) putting things together backwards or reversed if that option is possible. The snow blower was no exception. I attached the handles quickly. What could be simpler than four bolts and their corresponding knobs?

Silly question! The middle handle has a “guide” for a rod which, as I discovered, I’d placed wrong-side-down. OK, it was a quick fix, but still a typical mistake. Then I attached the top handle, only to learn I’d missed a step, and then after correcting that error, discerned that I had installed that handle upside down and backwards, too. Uff da!

Oh well. I took things in stride. I know my skills and proclivities, and so things like this simply don’t cause me any grief. On the contrary, they cause me to chuckle. It isn’t an “I don’t care,” kind of laugh. I do care. But I don’t take myself so seriously that I can’t enjoy the challenge of overcoming my own shortcomings and completing a task for which I may not be well suited. 

I like the pride that accompanies an accomplishment (not to be confused with the pride of one’s ego), and the victory is even sweeter when I know I am having the last laugh over illustrators and translators whose sole goals are seemingly to thwart people like me with pictures and instructions that often make no sense! As young Kevin MacCallister says, “Take that, you filthy animals!”

There will likely be a lot of assembling taking place over the next few weeks as folks find themselves opening packages marked “Some Assembly Required.” Don’t sweat it. Slow and steady wins the race. It is, in some ways, a metaphor of the season, isn’t it?

Jesus came into the world with some assembly required. Joseph and Mary had to plan and assemble a trip to Bethlehem. Angels assembled over the hills, singing their carols to shepherds who then had to relocate, assembling around a manger. Magi bearing gifts (none of which required assembling, we should note) traveled across moors and mountains “following yonder star,” assembled in Jerusalem, then in Bethlehem, then skedaddled before Herod could have them or the Holy Family disassembled!

No matter what your holiday gatherings look like this year, know that life comes with some assembly required. It did for Jesus; it does for us. May God bless you whenever, wherever, and with whomever you assemble here in these, our most blessed valleys. Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, and (soon) Happy New Year!

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Oh, Go Ahead; Let Your Light Shine!

Gratitude can transform common days into thanksgivings, turn routine jobs into joys, and change ordinary opportunities into blessings. William Arthur Ward

The lights are up. We had a couple of nice days following Thanksgiving, and while I wasn’t in the mood to decorate for Christmas, the weather around here does not wait for moods. I looked at the weather app on my phone and saw a line of unpleasant weather lined up for the next week and a half (and if I don’t like putting up decorations in good weather, I assure you that I absolutely abhor doing so when the weather turns “frightful”), so I gathered up our flock of outdoor delights, untangled them, and hung them where I’ve always hung them. I’m nothing if not unoriginal.

Anyway, the lights are up. It’s not a tough job, to be honest. I have lighting nets that go over the barberry bushes that line our front yard and driveway, and the Japanese maple that anchors the entrance to our drive. The wreath was carefully hung over the garage, with swags of lighted garland stretched out like angel’s wings. It’s not much, but it’s what we can plug into the outlet without blowing circuits or requiring the local power company to fire up their nuclear plants.

The lights are up. Or at least they were (to my satisfaction) when my life partner stepped out to inspect the fruits of my labor. “The nets are upside down,” she said. 

I explained that the space between the barberry bushes is such that the cords that connect one net to another forced me to stretch them across like power lines between poles. The problem, she pointed out, is that each cord comes with an ugly sun-bright yellow caution tag. “If you hang the nets with the cord at the bottom, it will look less ugly,” she explained.

My Viking blood began to boil, but fortunately it was too cold outside to mumble anything other than, “Yes, I see what you mean” through my frozen lips. So I took the extra three minutes it required to flip the nets onto their proverbial heads (or, in this case, feet), and I am happy to report that everything does, indeed, look better.

The lights are up. There is a cranky side to my soul that objects to the hoopla and folderol surrounding the Christmas season. As a stickler for tradition, I note for the record here that what society calls the “Christmas Season” is (in my own Episcopal Church tradition) the season of Advent, but it would be easier to stop the moon or tides from rising than to convince the world around us that this time of year is about anything other than Santa, reindeer, elves, and ghosts of seasons past. So be it.

There is a cranky side to my soul, indeed, but if I ignore it, it goes back to sleep pretty quickly. Like an old watchdog, it hears a strange noise, takes a moment to sound an alarm, and as soon as the owner of the house looks out the window, the hound lays its head back in its furry paws, returning to dreams of chasing rabbits or squirrels, knowing there is nothing more to do until the Master calls.

The month of December is short, cold, dark, and miserable enough that I don’t need to add the weight of my own grumblings to the load others are under. The lights are up. They are an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace. As cold and as dark as things may seem outwardly, there is a warmth and a light burning inwardly.

While Jesus does urge us to pray in secret and not wear our religion on our sleeves, in other places he encourages us to “let your light shine so that others may see the good you do, putting your spotlight on God in heaven” (Matthew 5:16, my paraphrase).

So the lights are up. They’re hung right-side up and (true story), the weather app has changed all the terrible, horrible, rainy-wet, no-good days that had been predicted to sunny days here in this, our valley. It’s a miracle and the lights are up. Amen!

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Would You Rather be Thor, or Happy?

In order that people may be happy in their work, these three things are needed: They must be fit for it. They must not do too much of it. And they must have a sense of success in it. John Ruskin, Philosopher

My first visit to Montana took place sometime in the 1960s. I was a young teen and our family made the trip from Seattle up to someplace near Whitefish to visit with friends. We had a delightful time wandering through the woods and go-carting around their property. 

The weather was hot and dusty, so we washed down a lot of that dust with cold, refreshing lemonade (and totally ignored the grime with which our bodies had become caked). We knew we’d get a bath or shower sometime down the road, but that wasn’t anything for teenage boys and/or girls to worry over whilst out and about on vacation.

When night fell, we kids decided to sleep outside under the Big Sky. We had no desire to spend those delightful hours of darkness indoors listening to the adults yammer on and on about things that certainly don’t interest teens.

We explored the stars, finding and identifying the Big Dipper, Orion’s belt, the North Star, and other astronomical phenomena. I’m sure we saw a few shooting stars, too, before the forces of gravity and fatigue pulled our eyelids into the closed and locked condition more commonly known as sleep. I do recall seeing some lightning off in the distance, over the mountains. Michael, leader of we night-time porch-tenders, told us it was heat lightning, so we gave it no further thought.

At least we gave it no further notice until the stars disappeared, having been (apparently) replaced by storm clouds. We were awakened by a symphonic explosion of thunder and lightning direct from Thor himself, and a downpour against which Noah’s little adventure surely paled in comparison! In the nano-second or two it took us to jump up (still cocooned in our sleeping bags) and scramble into the house (if hopping madly in the aforementioned sleep-sacks counts as “scrambling”), we were so drenched the Loch Ness Monster would have seemed as dry as a Gila Monster in comparison!

Memories.

As we approach the holiday season, it occurs to me that we adults tend to focus on everything we need to “do.” There are gifts to purchase and/or ship; there are meals to plan and buy for. Our helpful news media remind us how much more these things will “cost” compared to a year, decade, or century ago. Mental health advocates will provide us with checklists of things to do or avoid to keep the holidays as stress free as possible (as if having one more checklist to go over will reduce that stress). And, of course, there is all the travel that needs doing, and all the complications the travel industry, staffing, and weather will impose upon those who really want to get from point A to B, and back again in a timely manner.

It’s funny, and I’d never really thought of it this way before, but as kids, we had “staff” to take care of all those details. They were our parents and guardians. Maybe we were relegated to the back seats of the car, but so is the President. So is the Pope! Our parents managed our calendars, our meals, our transportation, packing, etc. We simply got to enjoy the ride. And our jobs, when you got right down to it, was to keep busy and stay out of trouble. Our parents patched our wounds, kissed our boo-boos, and always sent us back out to chase butterflies, get dirty, and keep on keeping on.

I think the key to a happier holiday season is to simply take a step back and accept what it is we’re “fit for,” not do too much of it, and have a sense of accomplishment when it’s done. Forget trying to have (or make) a “perfect” holiday season. “Perfect is the enemy of good” (so be good for goodness sake). 

Let God be God. Do what you can, don’t do too much, and appreciate what you’ve done here in this, our valley. Do that, and you’ll not become a Thor loser, even if it storms on your holiday.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Don’t Let the Jingle Jangle Your Nerves

Silence is the element in which great things fashion themselves together. Thomas Carlyle

OK, the Great Pumpkin is behind us, turkeys are flying from the grocer’s freezers, and the number of Black Friday events has multiplied to a point that seems, well, pointless. The other day we recovered the hour we had lost last Spring (as if time has ever stopped, backed up, or sprung forward). The sun has pulled a blanket of clouds over its face (having gone South for the winter along with the migratory birds), and peeks out from beneath the covers every now and then just to see if we’re still here.

We humans don’t take the hint, of course. Where nature tells us it is time to settle down, rest, and recuperate from the frenetic pace we set in Spring, Summer, and Autumn, we don’t. Like a child hyped up on too much sugar and candy, many yell back at Mother Nature, “You’re not the boss of me!” and set about to make as big a mess and as much noise as they want to.

Yes, I know everyone complains about Christmas displays up and running before the Back to School specials at the end of summer. I know we complain about the confluence of various holidays between Labor Day and New Year. We complain, but what can we actually do about any of it? 

Nothing – and that’s OK. 

We can complain about it, if we wish. We can move someplace where such matters don’t exist (like Guam, Wake Island, or Mars), if we wish. We can let it bother us, if we wish. We can bury our heads in the sand and ignore the chaos, if we wish. 

Or we can put on our big girl or big boy pants and accept that we live in a weird world, and just because chaos is for sale, we don’t need to buy it; just because chaos is visible, we don’t need to stare at it; just because chaos is bursting out all around us, there is no attending shock-wave with which we need to actually deal.

I will confess that I hum or whistle holiday music year-round. I do it spontaneously when the mood strikes. I do it quietly and to myself. It may not always be the “right time of year” in which to do it, but so what? If it brings me joy, it brings me joy. Shall I let some fuddy-duddy bring me down with a sneer or scowl? Heck no! On the contrary, that would be more likely to increase the mirth of my soul (I never said I was a nice person).

No, I really try not to let the wackiness of the world we live in get me down. I have enough of those periods without any outside help. What I do find helpful is noting what my environment is doing to me and asking what I need to do (if anything) in response – for my own health and peace of mind. 

If hype, noise, and chaos is causing my blood pressure to rise and my nerves to fray, I seek out a quiet place at home, or car, or the sanctuary of my church. Churches are marvelously quiet places between Sundays. It’s too bad so many of them need to be locked up for security or protection from thieves and vandals. But they can be wonderful places to go when one needs relief from the assaults of a jingly, jangly world. We can also set up small sacred spaces in our homes if church space isn’t available.

As for the season of Happy Hallo-Thanks-mas, it is what it is. It is only a bother if I decide I need to do something about it. Fortunately, I don’t. Controlling the world is above my pay-grade (and a task for which I am marvelously unsuited). 

No, my job isn’t so much to change the world, but to ask God to change me and pray that the end result of that undertaking may make the world a better place in the process. Until then, I’ll just make space for the sound of silence here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

When the Rubber Hits the Road

A man has made at least a start on discovering the meaning of human life when he plants shade trees under which he knows full well he will never sit. D. Elton Trueblood

The other day I was headed home from my weekly book study group. The streets were damp from a light drizzle that had recently fallen. I was driving uphill, so as I rounded a corner I added a smidge more gas with the accelerator and felt the tires spin. 

When I got home I walked around the truck and gave the tires a close inspection. They still had plenty of tread on them; I have really stopped doing much driving, what with retirement and the pandemic-induced home-body I’ve become. The problem wasn’t the quality or depth of the tread, so I had to delve deeper into the mystery of the spinning rubber.

Ah; rubber! I put my tactile sensors to work and, lo, there it was! The tires may not have had much wear, but they were getting a bit long in the tooth, so to speak. I felt around and discerned they had lost their elasticity. They’d become like old pencils whose erasers only smudge the marks one is trying to clean up or, worse yet, tear the paper when one rubs too hard.

The tread is willing, I mused, but the grip is weak.

With winter making its approach, I decided to run down to the local tire center and get some replacements. They cost more than I’d wanted to spend, of course, but the peace of mind that comes with a fraction more traction is priceless. 

The lobby was fairly still and subdued. A television was tuned to a sports channel. The volume was low, but the voices of the on-air opinionists would puncture the quiet every now and then as if screaming opinions would make them sound more believable. Fortunately, God blessed me with a capacity to tune out the pontification of pundits – it’s my superpower.

I scrolled through my phone to pass away the time as the waiting room had no magazines with which to thumb through. It may seem more sanitary that way, but I think customer sanity is being overlooked. Nevertheless, as I scrolled, a gentleman ambled up to where I was sitting and began to make small-talk.

For those who don’t know me, I confess I’ve never been good at small talk. Once I get past the current weather conditions, my quiver of conversational arrows is empty. I think social anxiety sends any freshly oxygenated blood straight from my head to my toes so that the relative vacuum that normally exists between my ears becomes super-charged, causing eyes, ears, and lips to close, and my soul to spin away into the remaining Twilight Zone of my existence.

Against that impulse for survival, however, I found myself looking into the gentleman’s eyes (for he was wearing a mask). It wasn’t chit-chat he was after. 

I closed the news app I’d been perusing and slipped my phone into my pocket. We continued to exchange a few pleasantries, and then the conversation went deeper. The details are unimportant, but I learned the gentleman lives alone. His wife is in memory care and he is approaching ninety. He wasn’t being gabby, it turns out; he was just thankful that his leaky tire had gotten him out of his empty house. He was hungry for company.

“Company.” The root of the word is “pan,” bread. In a world where pundits scream at one another, where politicians lie about one another, where people bury their noses in their phones and flip one another off on the road, my friend just hungered to make a connection that didn’t involve radio waves or electronic wizardry. 

As he got ready to leave (once the nail had been removed from his tire and patched “good as new”) we wished each other well. He had air in his tires and a spring in his step.

The problem with our world is that we spend too much time spinning our wheels.  My truck needed new tires; I needed a new attitude! A better attitude could help us get to where we’re going (and give us better traction, to boot) whenever the rubber hits the road here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

 

The Lady in the Ivy

 

Fears are educated into us, and can, if we wish, be educated out. Karl A. Menninger 

I was doing some yard work a couple of days ago and came across what, at first, appeared to be a crime scene. While I normally write in prose, I found the event inspired the flow of some poetic juices. Don’t worry; Emily Dickenson, Robert Frost, Carl Sandburg, Amanda Gorman need not fear my joining their august ranks anytime soon. I do hope you’ll enjoy it, though.

O lady in the ivy, 

Just who the heck are you? 

I found you as I trimmed the vines

Your visage shocked me, true.

I had no plans to find a thing

Beyond the tangled vines

So when I came across your face

I gained deep worry lines.

At first I thought I’d found a skull

You had a bony hue 

I pulled away more leaves of green

So I’d see more of you.

The paleness of the skull I viewed –

My eyes did pierce the screen –

Of foliage that once hid your face,

‘twas mostly still unseen.

I wondered ‘bout the grizzly end

That’d put you in my care

That I should find you in my yard

Beneath that ivy lair.

The spiders scurried to and fro,

I made my way to you,

My sheers drew closer to your scalp

O’er which the ivy grew.

With tenderness I pulled the vines

Which o’er your face had grown

I hoped that I would do no harm

To you who lay alone.

I said a prayer, so quick, so fast,

Your welfare my concern

That I could free your cold remains

And who you were, discern.

I plucked away the vines and twigs,

Your face came fully clear,

I fin’ly knew what I had found,

I found your smile so dear.

Once unearthed, you were in my grasp,

A treasure I had found;

You weren’t a skull at all, my dear

Discovered ‘neath that mound.

The woman ‘neath the canopy

Of ivy, leaves, and vines, 

Was nothing but a statue’s face,

Erasing worry lines.

I brought her out from her drear tomb,

Exposed her to the sun,

And told her now she’s free at last

The ivy battle: Done!

While Halloween is a few weeks off, I hope this puts you in the mood. This was a “fun find” and sent me in a direction I don’t normally go. It was a good reminder that things aren’t always what they seem; it is good to continue digging past our fears and accepting the answers we discover in the process here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Valley of the Shadow

NOTE: Every now and then during the month of October, I will be posting a very brief short story with a Halloween or Horror theme. If that’s not your cup of tea, please feel free to move along. 

Sergei was a man who feared no man. Neither did he fear wind, storm, or things that go bump in the night. He did not fear to walk through the valley of the shadow of death, either, for he knew he was the meanest SOB in that valley. So it came as something of a surprise when a lonely little lamb ambled up to him one day to bid him good morning.

Sergei was not accustomed to any person offering him greetings, let alone a fuzzy little lamb, so he stopped in his tracks, stared straight into the face of the wooly critter before him and asked, “What the heck do YOU want?” His response was more of a sneer than a question, but the lamb took no notice of that and answered, “Nothing more than to offer you a good day, my brother.”

Sergei was an only child. He had no brothers or sisters, cousins, or kin of any sort, so he prepared to bite off the head of the wee one who dared speak to him as he made his way through the dark valley upon which he was stomping. Before he took his first bite, though, the lamb spoke one more time, with timorous voice, “If you would let me pass, dear sir, I will grant you one wish, after which you may do with me what you will.”

“I wish you would fill my tummy with your delicious self,” howled Sergei with delight. “I have outsmarted you, you scrawny white Brillo pad!”

“As you wish,” replied the lamb, upon which time she blinked three times and -- poof -- transported herself immediately into Sergei’s belly, whereupon she began to feast on him from the inside out!

It appears the lamb had pulled the wool over Sergei’s eyes! Bwah ha ha!!! 

The HEADSTONE

NOTE: Every now and then during the month of October, I will be posting a very brief short story with a Halloween or Horror theme. If that’s not your cup of tea, please feel free to move along.  

Francois was walking through the cemetery one fine day when he heard a voice call his name. He looked around, but no one was there. “Francois!” He heard his name again and realized that not only was it a voice he did not recognize, but a voice that sounded dark, damp, and earthy. “Yes,” he answered, somewhat nervously.

He pondered his situation. He came through the cemetery quite often, but he was a careful lad, and thoughtful. He treated every grave with respect. He crossed himself upon entering and leaving. He stayed on the pathways between all the graves, headstones, and vaults. So why would the spirits or ghosts speak to him -- if that is who or what he was hearing?

The voice rose up once again from beneath his feet, answering the ruminations of his mind. “The grounds upon which you tread are holy grounds. The day is coming when you will join your neighbors here, but do not fret. It was through an act of love you came into being. It is to love, you are here. It will be Love who calls you home.”

“I thank you for your wise counsel, but who are you?” asked Francois.

The voice answered:

“I’m the One in charge here, of course. I am called ‘The Head Stone.’ Duh!”

Note: Photograph: Lyman Cemetery (Lyman, WA)

FRIGHT TIMES

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Every now and then during October, I will write a very brief short story with a Halloween or Horror theme. If that’s not your cup of tea, please feel free to move along. Each story may be illustrated, but I won’t post any blood or gore. After all, this is a Blog, and that is scary enough.

George was a hard-working barista for a local drive-through coffee specialty shop. He had to arrive at least an hour before opening time to prepare the beans, creams, and cups for the customers who would always begin arriving (impatiently) at least ten minutes before it was time to open. George didn’t care. When they pulled up to the window, he was ready for them, even if they were early.

On this day, however, George was not prepared for his first customer. “May I have your order,” he asked with his usual chirpy ‘tude. That changed when he noted his first customer was an empty black robe with hood, no face, and carrying a scythe. “Yes,” answered the robed figure in a deep, quiet baritone. “Two large, hot, black coffees. Plain.” George said nothing, just nodded.

He poured two quick cups of the hottest, freshest, blackest coffee available in his little shop. “Two fresh hot Grandes,” he said, as he handed them to the black robed customer. George looked several times into the black-as-coal Cadillac idling beside the service window, but there wasn’t anyone beside the hooded driver. George should have known better, but he couldn’t help asking, “Um, who is the second cup for?”

For a moment, George thought he could catch a glimpse of crimson fire where the hooded figures eyes should be, and beyond that, perhaps even a whiff of burning brimstone or Sulphur. The ghoul answered, quietly, “It’s for you!”

George quivered where he stood, and a deep, dark belly-laugh roared forth from the creature’s mouth, after which he added, “Master says I cannot come home without either a cup of fresh coffee or your soul, so I got the second cup for your sake; its for you! Have a nice day.”

The END

We Have a Wireless Connection With God

Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits. Psalm 103 

I generally don’t leave home without my phone. The other day I got into the car to run to the store and, as is my custom, I gave myself a quick pat-down (once a cop, always a cop, I guess), and tapped my cell-phone pocket (the reason I wear cargo pants, besides their being so comfortable). The pocket was empty as I had apparently left my communicator in the house. I panicked, of course. I would have called 9-1-1 but didn’t have my phone. Uff da! 

Consequently, I knew I was on my own; my survival would be solely dependent on the skills of my hands and the cunning of my mind (or what’s left of it). With cat-like reflexes I leapt out of the car, dashed into the house, retrieved my phone, and was back in the saddle before the vehicle’s seat cushion had even sprung back from the depression I’d made when I had originally gotten into it. Yes friends, I AM that fast.

Anyway, I found myself thinking back to the days when phones were attached to one’s house with a cord. One of my earliest memories (true story) was hearing the phone ring when I was about two or three years of age. I told my mother the phone was ringing (as she was ignoring it) and she said, “That’s not our ring.” 

I had no idea what that meant. She explained we were on a party line and that each party had their own special ring. I don’t recall my response. I can only assume I was awestruck by the idea that we each had our own ring-tone, after which I no doubt spent the rest of the day contemplating the mysteries of the universe (or going down for a nap).

We have come a long way, haven’t we? Bless the Lord. Bless the Lord, indeed.

I suppose I miss the simpler days of being able to go anywhere without being conjoined with the cosmos through the miracles of technology and science. Our parents knew for the most part where we were because we told them in advance where we were going, with whom we’d be spending our time, and assuring them we’d be home in time for dinner (especially as I had a tummy more accurate than the Atomic Clock when it came to things like meals). 

Believe it or not, I actually have been known to take care of business without the accompaniment of my cell phone. While I feel more comfortable with it than without it, I am secure enough in my own being that I can run my errands au naturale. How could I not dare such things? God has engraved on my heart: “Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, thou (God) art with me.” 

I’ve been creeping through that valley for over seven decades now; I don’t see God wandering off and getting lost just because I didn’t think to drag along my mobile-unit with its built-in GPS for the two of us!

The bottom line for me is and always has been God’s faithfulness. While it’s nice to have a computer in one’s pocket, it isn’t essential for our continued existence. All of life is dependent on God. All we need to do is do the next indicated thing. 

If we focus on the task at hand, we don’t need to fret over what we may have forgotten or neglected. Buying groceries required my wallet, not my phone, so there was really no need to panic. The good news (for me) was that the panic was extremely short-lived; retrieving the phone was a relief, but I could just as easily have gone to the store, done what I needed to, and come home to a device that would have been there awaiting my return.

Sometimes we put too much time and energy into the woulda-coulda-shouldas of life. It is enough to simply do what we need to, and leave the rest to God. When we leave the rest “to” God, we can enjoy the rest “of” God and forget not all his benefits here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Reflecting on 9/11

The sad truth is that most evil is done by people who never make up their minds to be either good or evil. Hannah Arendt 

Some years ago – more than a century ago – there was a major outbreak of Yellow Fever in the city of Memphis. More than 5,100 people died of the mosquito-borne disease (somewhat akin to Ebola). The city lost its charter as people fled in a great exodus; but not everyone left town. 

We read in Wikipedia: “When the 1878 epidemic struck, a number of priests and nuns (both Protestant and Catholic), doctors—and even a bordello owner, Annie Cook—stayed behind to tend to the sick and dying, despite the high risk of contracting the disease, which often resulted in a painful death. The Episcopal nuns' superior, Sister Constance, three other Episcopal nuns, and two Episcopal priests are known throughout the Anglican Communion as "Constance and Her Companions" or, informally, the "Martyrs of Memphis". Added to the Episcopal Church's Lesser Feasts and Fasts in 1981, their feast day (September 9) commemorates their sacrifices.” 

As we reflect on the awful events of 9/11 (can you believe it has been 21 years?), it seems appropriate to remember that not all religious fanatics are created equal. 

After 9/11, it is hard not to be put off by religious fanatics, to think of them solely as being evil, and to live in fear of them – or in terror; but it doesn’t have to be that way. 

Fanatics are enthusiasts – people dedicated to a cause. That cause does NOT have to be a desire to kill, maim, or harm others. Some sports fans are certainly violent hooligans, but they are the exception to the rule; the vast majority of fans are folks who simply enjoy a particular sport to a great degree, and who bear witness to their enthusiasm by purchasing game tickets, sports memorabilia, team gear, and the like. 

If one wants to identify all religious fanatics with the likes of the Taliban or their ilk, one certainly may, but the truth is that the honest-to-goodness religious fanatics are people like you and me – folks who go through life striving to be good, decent, and productive members of society. 

We do not ask much of one another, except to be honest. We do not think of ourselves as heroes or religious superstars. We rise up in the morning, do what needs to be done, have a bit of fun if possible, unwind as best we can, and then get some rest so we can get up and do it all over again the next day. 

We don’t think of ourselves as fanatics because we aren’t overly invested in winning or losing. 

We don’t consider the things we do to be all that sacrificial. It’s no sacrifice to phone a friend to see how they’re doing. It’s not all that burdensome to take a meal to someone who’s sick. It’s not all that spectacular to politely share the road with both well-mannered and crazies alike. None of that looks fanatical – or fantastical – and yet it is. 

The very things we take for granted, like courtesy, paying our bills, yielding the right of way (even when we don’t legally have to) are the consequence of yielding to One to whom we will one day give account for the decisions we’ve made and the lives we’ve led. To “bear witness” is to be a martyr. One doesn’t have to die to bear witness; on the contrary, one has to live. Our lives bear witness to what we believe. 

The Martyrs of Memphis made it clear that they considered it supremely important to bring comfort to others despite the mortal danger it put them in. We live in a day and an age where suffering is more often than not a consequence of decisions made for the sake of greed and corruption. 

The worst thing we can do is run away in the hopes of finding a better, safer place to call home, or to sit silently on the sidelines hoping things will improve through magic. The world only improves when life’s fanatics roll up their sleeves to tackle life’s problems head on with love and courage. So let’s choose to be fanatics for good here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

RESTORING THE COMMUNITY

 RESTORING THE COMMUNITY

Proper 19, 09/11/2022

The Rev. Keith Axberg, for St. Paul’s (Mount Vernon, WA)

Exodus 32:7-14, Psalm 51:1-11, 1 Tim 1:12-17, Luke 15:1-10

Exodus: Moses & the Golden Calf, God’s fierce anger, God repents

Psalm: Have mercy on me, O God … create in me a clean heart

1 Tim: I was a sinner, God had mercy, Jesus came to “save” sinners

Luke: Grumblers meet a dedicated shepherd and a diligent housewife.

If there is any one thing that binds us together, as human beings, what might that be? 

I ask because it seems we’re so easily divided. We’re divided into Haves and Have Nots; Right Wing or Left Wing; Rich or Poor; Straight, Gay, or Transgender; Adult or child; man or woman; employee or employer; the list goes on. 

There’s no shortage of things we can fight over or fight about, but there’s one thing we all have in common, and that is LOSS. Each of us knows LOSS. Some losses are small, like dropping the doo-dad that keeps your earring from falling out, or the sock that loses its partner to some parallel universe when you’re doing laundry. Other losses are more significant: the loss of health, or job, or a parent, sibling, spouse, or child.

We all have our stories of loss. Some of them we share openly. Others we hide, kept away from prying eyes. Some losses fill us with grief; others fill us with shame.

Some years ago a group of  seminarians were playing badminton out on the lawn behind the Iona Building. Suddenly, One of the ladies shouted, “Hold it!” She had popped a contact lens there on the lawn. 

These weren’t the disposable kind. They were expensive and she didn’t have a replacement lens to fall back on. She knew about where she had been when she lost her contact, so we only had about 15-20 square feet of lawn to search – and search we did. For 30 minutes we combed every inch of lawn until there, at the base of one blade of grass, we found it.

Everyone clapped and cheered, and as she went to put it back in, her long silky eyelashes flicked the lens off her finger and back into the lawn. Once again we went into search mode and once again, we found the lens and she put it into its case and wore her glasses for the rest of the picnic.

We all have our lost and found stories, which ties in with our Gospel lesson – the stories of the lost sheep and the lost coin, but I’d like to warn you. That’s NOT what those stories are about. It’s part of those stories, but there’s a lot more to them.

One of the challenges we have when we’re familiar with the parables of Jesus is that when we hear the title, we go, “Oh, that one,” and we set aside our listening ears. But Jesus didn’t give his parables titles. He wants us to listen closely. It’s not our lostness he’s talking about.

Go back to the first line: All the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus. Tax collectors. He’s not talking about IRS agents reviewing forms. He’s talking about people empowering Rome at YOUR expense. Tax collectors. That’s short-hand for enemies, traitors, turn-coats. Think of people you would apply those terms to (in your own life, your own experience, your own perspective) and let that sit on your belly for a moment or two.

Don’t worry about whether you’re thinking in terms of politics, religion, economic systems, history, or whatever. I just want you to imagine the worst people you can, and see them coming to listen to Jesus. Those are the tax collectors.

They aren’t alone, of course. In addition to traitors, you’ve got the rest of the world’s losers – those who don’t measure up; those who fall flat; those who bend the rules or act like the rules don’t apply to them; the narcissists, psychopaths, sociopaths, child abusers, thieves, card-cheats, and dirty dancers; the ones who toss litter out their car windows, who refuse to use their turn signals, who crowd your bumper when you’re in their lane.

Get an emotional picture of them in your mind. Don’t be shy. These are the losers. Traitors and losers. They’re coming to listen to Jesus, and instead of scolding them or tearing a “new one” into each of them, Jesus is having a wonderful time, eating, and drinking – and in so doing, he is showing to polite society that (in reality) he … is one … of … THEM! He’s a traitor to Israel. He’s a traitor to Torah. He is a traitor to holiness. He is a traitor to godliness. He is a traitor …  and a loser … and the worst of both kinds.

“Why do you hang with such losers?” That’s what the Pharisees (the good church people) want to know. That’s what the scribes (the scholars, the educators, the lawyers) want to know. Even in Jesus’ day they knew the old saying, “If you lie down with camels you’ll rise up with fleas.”

It’s a good question: Why does Jesus hang with losers? What’s worse: Why does he enjoy it?

They remind me of the old joke about the Puritans, whose greatest fear is that someone somewhere is somehow having fun!

What they’re doing, of course, is saying something about themselves. “We take God seriously. Why don’t you? We take our faith seriously. Why don’t you?”

They have an image of God that comes straight out of Torah, like the one in our first lesson, where God sees and hears the Children of Israel singing and dancing around a golden calf, and God says, “Moses, go tell those kids to KNOCK IT OFF!”

I resemble that remark! As a child, no matter how many times my Sunday school teacher told me how much God loves me, I always had the sight and smell of fire and brimstone wafting through the air of my imagination.  Yes, Jesus is love, but GOD has the final vote, and I see a charcoal pit in my future. I can’t help it. That’s the visceral image bubbling up in the pot of my soul. It’s always there.

Jesus knows that. He’s grown up with Pharisees and Sadducees and Zealots and Essenes, and separatists. And what they all have in common is this idea that WE’VE GOT IT, AND YOU DON’T; WE’RE IN, AND YOU’RE NOT!

Jesus doesn’t argue with them. That’s helpful because, believe it or not, I have a lot of opinions about a lot of things, and my instinct is to argue with all comers. But there’s a better way, and Jesus shares it with us. He doesn’t argue; he shares a story, because that’s how we communicate. We don’t communicate with words, but through stories. So Jesus shares three stories (the 2 we have today, and the 3rd one we generally hear in Lent – the story of the Prodigal).

Which of you, caring for a flock and losing one of your sheep, doesn’t leave the flock in the wilderness, and look for the one that was lost? You scan the fields, you climb to the top of the hills, you look in the wadis and behind boulders until you find the sheep that was lost. It’s too scared to move. It won’t come to the sound of your voice, even though you know her name and she knows your voice. She’s as good as dead. She is paralyzed with fear. So you pick her up, hoist her up onto your shoulders, and you carry her all the way home. And when you get there, you call together your friends and neighbors and you say, “Rejoice with me, because I FOUND THE SHEEP I HAD LOST.”

Did you hear that? “I found the sheep that I had lost.”

It’s not about the sheep getting lost. It’s not about blaming the sheep for being a sheep. It’s not about the sheep being found, either. It’s about a shepherd who looks, notices that BaaBaa is missing, and makes it his goal to go, look, search, and find that sheep – for 2 reasons. First, it’s to make  the flock whole again!  But secondly (and equally important), it is to restore the shepherd’s honor and reputation.

What kind of shepherd laughs off the loss of a sheep? If a shepherd cares for something as seemingly trivial as a sheep, HOW MUCH MORE does God care for US (as individuals), and for US (as a divine community)?

YOU see the insignificant sheep that was lost, but I see a flock that is incomplete (says Jesus). I see a flock that is not whole. You say these losers don’t belong, but I say GOD won’t rest until God’s flock is made whole! That’s the Gospel! That’s the Good News. Jesus doesn’t shame the sheep. Jesus doesn’t insult the shepherd.

You see winners and losers, those who belong and those who don’t, but God simply sees us. These people you put down see God at work, and this is giving them hope. Let me tell you another story – a little old lady story.

What woman discovering she has lost a coin – one of ten – doesn’t throw open the flap on her door, light a candle, and sweep around until she has found it? And finding it, what does she do? She yells out the window – “Hey Mable, hey Sally, hey Phyllis and Sylvia, Come here! Let’s have a party! The coin I lost has been found!”

It’s not about the coin. I mean, here’s the coin (the one pictured below is smaller than an American penny, quite tarnished, almost earth-colored in person): 

Can you see it? This is what she lost. It’s not as old; it isn’t a drachma, but it’s about the same size and shape of what she might have lost. You and I look at it and it’s so small, so insignificant, but here’s the point: To her, this is life. 

This is what she needs for her DAILY BREAD. You know that prayer we pray every now and then? Give us this day our daily bread? It’s not a coin, you see; it’s an answer to her prayer. And listen to her:

“Rejoice with me, for I found the Drachma that I had lost!”

Maybe you feel that God has dropped the ball on you. Sometimes we feel that way. Bad things happen to good people; it just doesn't seem fair; it just feels like we've been dropped, lost, and forgotten. That's an image Jesus wants to explore. 

I was watching the Cougars play football yesterday. Wisconsin was driving, and SUDDENLY, the ball was tipped and this big ol’ Cougar lineman caught the ball. He took a few steps and WHAM! He lost the ball as he was tackled and Wisconsin recovered.

“Oh no, there goes the game” went ‘round and ‘round this ol’ squirrel cage. But a play or two later, the Cougs came up with another interception and ate up the clock to win the game.

I’m not big into the Blame Game, but sometimes it just feels like God has dropped the ball on us. Now, we don’t want to get into trouble with the Big Guy, so we hold our tongues (which is kind of silly as God knows our hearts and minds anyway), but Jesus says, “Don’t worry. If this woman won’t rest until she has restored this coin to her purse, HOW MUCH MORE WILL GOD not rest until she has restored US to her treasury?"

"It is so easy to hate, like the Pharisees," says Jesus. "It is so easy to judge, like the Scribes." You don’t have to be much of a student of world history to see what hate produces. Twenty-one years ago today, we experienced 9/11. It unified the country, in a way. But as bad as the loss of 3,000 souls was, worse was the fear and paranoia that gripped the heart of our nation. Time has not healed those wounds; if anything, it has made them worse. 

Time cannot and will not heal those wounds – unless we use our time like Jesus. I cannot prove this, but I’ll bet Jesus built both tables and fences as a carpenter. Both have their place. It wasn’t either/or for him, but both/and. 

Healing and restoring the world means spending time with those who don’t look, think, speak, or act like us. Abraham Lincoln once said, “If we make our enemy our friend, have we not destroyed our enemy in the process?” 

You know, I have a wonderful knack for making enemies; making friends is harder. But if God is healing and restoring the world, then I really do want to be a recipient of, and participant in, that healing and restoration.

That means accepting God as my shepherd and my housekeeper – for God is both, whether I want it or not. 

For God, none of us is expendable. God has restored us. God is restoring us. God will restore us, and THAT is the greatest news of all --- for ALL of us --- isn’t it?

The Son Also Rises

The Universe is not in a hurry. You are. That’s why you are anxious … Author unknown

The sun is a lolly-gagger. Did you know that? I always thought there were twenty-four hours in a day. That’s what I was taught. I am sure I was even told it was a verifiable “fact.” But it turns out it isn’t. The earth makes one complete rotation in roughly twenty-three hours and fifty-six minutes. Where do the extra four minutes go (or come from)?

Ah ha! As the world turns on its axis, it is also working its way around the sun. The earth travels approximately one degree each day (365 days to make the 360 degree trip), so it takes those four extra minutes to get the face of the earth back to where it was relative to the sun. 

I won’t bore you with everything else I know about time and space (for I’m sure you have better things to do with the three minutes it would take me to dump all that information on you), but I just found that bit of trivia interesting. It’s not something I had ever thought of before and, to be honest, don’t think my life will change significantly in light of that new information. What will change, however, is how I view the word “fact.”

Instead of thinking of facts as things chiseled into stone, I find it more useful to think of them as how we describe things until better descriptions come along. The sun appears to rise in the east each morning, so we call that event sunrise. We talk about the time that happens as a “fact.” The sun will rise at a certain time each day. It is how we describe the event, even though we know the phenomenon is described differently in astronomical terms. 

Are facts important? A few years ago a group of firemen got together and built a large deck on the back of a house for a fellow firefighter. I suspect coffee, tea, and ice water were not the only beverages used to quench their thirst. They finished the job in under five hours. They did the job without permits, without inspections, and without using proper materials or building techniques. A couple bought the house a few years later and needed to completely dismantle the deck which had become unsafe, and rebuild it completely – using proper materials and techniques, meeting or exceeding minimum building standards.

The fact is the old deck was poorly constructed. The fact is the new deck is vastly better. The differences between the two decks could be seen and felt. Facts matter. The question is, what do we do with facts when we have them in hand?

The sun will rise and set when it is supposed to. That’s a fact. There’s nothing I can do to change it, so I don’t need to waste energy trying. I can decide what time I want to rise each morning and what time I wish to hit the sack. That’s also a fact; it’s a fact I can work with. Those two facts aren’t in competition with each other. One doesn’t cancel out the other. One isn’t better or worse than the other. One is a fact of nature (the universe), and the other is a fact of nature (me). Each operates on its own timeline.

One of the things that makes life chaotic is the idea that it is a competitive sport. It’s not. We tend to mush our facts altogether as if each one carries the same weight as the one next to it. If you believe the earth is flat and sits on the back of a turtle or across the shoulders of Atlas, that’s fine by me. Neither set of facts or fables will ultimately affect my life. Some facts rest in the hands of a higher power, and that’s the point.

Each of us rests in the hands of a higher power. I suspect the only facts God is interested in are how we treat one another, how we treat creation, and how we treat ourselves. That is a fact upon which I base my life’s decisions and actions. Now I think I’ll go out and watch the Son rise here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

On a Light Note

What I do today is important because I am exchanging a day of my life for it. Hugh Mulligan

I went into the garage last night before retiring for the evening to confirm the garage doors were closed and locked. In the darkness I saw the car’s interior lights were on, so I went and turned them off. I had had the car in for some repair work and the manager told me the battery wouldn’t hold a charge (they had had the car for a number of days waiting for parts), so I asked them to just put in a new one. 

I had noticed that before I took the car in for some electrical work because I’d had to charge the battery whenever the car had been sitting for a week or more. Now I am wondering if the problem was a bad battery or having interior lights switched on 24/7 – lights I (and the service folks) would not have noticed during the long daylight hours of summer. Good grief!

The car has a new battery now, so I’ll never know. I could gnash my teeth over the possibility that I’d spent money I didn’t need to (and I do need to be more frugal in retirement), but I also know they installed a top-notch battery that should last 75 months according to the paperwork I received, so I see it more as an investment in a trouble-free power source rather than a wasted expense. It won’t be the first time I’ve done something silly, and it certainly won’t be the last time.

I try not to waste time in the world of “woulda, coulda, shoulda.” I may not be the sharpest financial genius with a piggy bank, but I know better than to invest time and energy in regrets. We all have regrets, of course, but we don’t need to wallow in them. I find spending too much time regretting keeps me from investing my time and energies more productively. As a friend once said, “You can’t live in two places at once; if you live in regret, you can’t live in the present.”

The point is, there is no time to waste. Assuming a human lifespan is 142 years, I’ve finally reached middle age, so it’s time to get going and make something of myself. As Mulligan (above) says, “What I do today is important …”

When I was working, I was a list-generator. I would make a list for two reasons. First, I needed to keep track of what I was supposed to be doing, who I needed to be visiting or calling, and so on. Secondly, I gained a lot of satisfaction seeing things get checked off my daily lists. It gave me a sense of accomplishment. 

Nowadays, the only lists I make are grocery lists; they’re always on the refrigerator door where I find (when I get to the store) that I’ve usually left them. Still, there is a certain amount of satisfaction of getting home and seeing how many things I remembered to get! Every victory, no matter how small or insignificant, is STILL a victory.

There’s a lot more flexibility with my calendar in retirement, of course (and a certain amount of irony to be found in getting older: my calendar is now more flexible while I’m not).

Be that as it may, I do manage to find things to keep me busy. I enjoy pulling weeds – something I never liked doing before. Of course, I wait until they grow knee high so I don’t have to bend so far, but the daily trip around the garden to find unwanted vegetation is productive. I continue to add water to the front and back bird-baths, although my avian friends haven’t been visiting as regularly as in the past. Most likely that is due to some new cats having moved into and prowling about the neighborhood.

I don’t mind. Cats have to do what cats have to do. This is their world, too, and that’s important. The planet isn’t a sandbox humans can explore and exploit. It is a home for all of creation. Perhaps that’s why the car lamps were lit. Home is where we leave a light on for those we love.

Apparently that’s what I’ve done here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

 

During a Storm, Bail!

“Why do you like thunderstorms?” asked an inquiring mind. “Because it shows that even nature needs to scream sometimes.” Author Unknown

Life is full of routines. Routines are dependable, and that’s a comfort when it seems so much of life is out of control. The world is often a very scary place. It is like the story in the Bible where the disciples are striving to cross the big lake one evening after a full day of preaching and teaching. Jesus is asleep at the back of the boat and a major squall rises up. It is so severe that it threatens to swamp the boat and sink it, drowning everyone onboard.

Life is like that. We turn on the news and it seems that nothing is going on except war, pestilence, famine, domestic strife, mass shootings, and fires without end – Amen. It is truly disheartening and discouraging. One is tempted to go full turtle: covering ears, closing eyes, pulling in heads and limbs, and going to sleep until everything has just gone away. It’s tempting to turn off the news and whistle our way through the graveyard.

Some ladies were visiting a graveyard one day after one of their friends who, like a certain Alexander, had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.* They’d gone to anoint the body because his arrest, trial, conviction, and execution had been so swift they hadn’t even had a chance to prepare him for a proper burial. 

When they got there, the tomb was empty and an angel sat on the stone which had been removed from the mouth of the sepulcher. The angel asked them who they were looking for, and when they told him they were looking for Jesus, the angel (eyes atwinkle, I suspect) replied, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here. He is alive and has gone before you, as he said he would. Go …”

The fact is we can’t fix things if we don’t face them. There’s more to life than fixing things, of course. Sometimes all we can do is sit with someone who is hurting and hurt with them. We can recognize when we do something wrong and decide to do something differently next time. 

One of the driving forces behind Jesus’ life and ministry was something he called the “kingdom of God,” and while we may think the term to be quaint and/or antiquated (since we’re not all that big on kings and queens, dukes and duchesses, counts or countesses) his view is less about hierarchies and more about seeing God in the people, places, and situations that surround us.

Jesus doesn’t define the kingdom of God as much as he describes it. Jesus uses the term “like” a lot. “The kingdom of God is ‘like’ a seed, which starts small but grows a big bush. Or the kingdom of God is ‘like’ an empty net that is tossed into the sea and gathers an abundant draught of fish…” 

It isn’t much different for us, is it? The kingdom of God is like leaves that clog a storm drain and the homeowner takes her rake and clears the clog, saving her and her neighbor’s property from the stormwaters. Or the kingdom of God is like what happens when a car gets stuck. One man sits in the back of the car praying for a solution while the other gets out to push. 

In other words, yes, the kingdom of God is a mix of those who do and those who pray. This is not to denigrate prayer, but to underline that prayer isn’t about asking God to do something, but asking God what we must do (God helping). 

The kingdom of God isn’t perfect, and neither are we, but nothing will change unless something or someone changes. So Jesus invites us to open our eyes and ears, look and listen, and identify what it is we can do to help. 

Don’t worry about what those around you are or are not doing. In the midst of the storm, it’s OK to beg Jesus for relief. But while you’re begging, don’t stop bailing. The bucket may well be the answer to your prayer in this, our storm tossed valley.

* ALA Notable Children’s Book, by Judith Viorst

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

There’s More Than Bats in This Belfry

“God cannot give us a happiness and peace apart from Himself, because it is not there. There is no such thing.” C.S. Lewis

This past week I celebrated the thirty-seventh anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood. Well, “celebrated” is a bit strong. I made a mental note of it as the day came and went. I don’t think about my vocation much anymore. I retired five years ago, and while I always enjoyed my life and work as a priest and pastor, I was ready for a change.

I didn’t stop being a priest, of course. Although I may not wear my collar much anymore – not even on Sundays – I am still a priest. The pandemic changed things, however. 

Having had some experience with audio-video technology, I became the parish A/V technician. I pieced together the equipment we needed to provide worship online when the congregation could not gather in person. Even now that we have returned to our sacred spaces, we continue to share our worship online with those who cannot attend in person because of age, illness, or (let’s be honest) they didn’t get up on time.

I believe that my modern-day-Quasimodo work in the loft (fiddling with the A/V equipment, managing glitches on the fly, trouble-shooting issues the online folks raise during worship, etc.) is every bit as holy as the work I did behind the altar or in the pulpit. I know that in my head, but sometimes my heart turns a deaf ear or a blind eye to that spiritual truth. 

Transitions are like that. Some are thrust upon us quite suddenly. Life is going along quite swimmingly and then, WOMP! The body that has always served quite admirably as an engine of mobility breaks down, or the mind that was once sharp as a tack has become a tarp on a shack. We pick up the phone and the people who have always been there to answer, don’t. It’s not that they don’t want to; it’s that they can’t. “Oh, right, they passed away,” I say to myself, suddenly remembering they died three years ago. And darkness descends. The dead-letter office has grown larger, and one’s own life more fragile and diminished.

Other transitions are slower. They sneak up on us like Gollum seeking his “precious.” The early days of the pandemic stretched on from days to weeks to months to years. The isolation and care we took to be safe, to avoid contracting or passing along the disease became a habit, a way of life. The joy and vitality of living became mundane, replaced by a spirit of drudgery, hopelessness, haplessness, and helplessness. The Alleluia of Faith, somewhere along the way, was replaced by a more doleful tune: Lamentation.

We are told that the human body has many organs, and I know it is true, and yet it seems I can only play the black keys on the organ of my soul. That is truly horrifying for one who has striven for most of his seven decades to maintain a decent level of positivity and good humor (albeit humor filled with some absolute groaners).

So, what is there to do? Is there a way through this morose desperation? Of course there is!

First, we need to recognize it for what it is. It is part of life. The fact that this depression has struck me so hard lately is evidence that I’ve had to struggle with this darkness so little in my life. There is no “bucking up” and getting “over it.” It is what it is, so I find (for myself) that it’s enough to embrace a line from Simon and Garfunckle, “Hello darkness, my old friend.” It’s OK. Not, it’s “going” to be OK. Simply, it’s OK. Even Jesus cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” 

Secondly, while we may not know how long an episode will last (and it could be life-long), we know that even in the darkness, God is there. Pain? God is there. Loneliness? God is there. Despair? God is there. God does not arrive suddenly, like the Lone Ranger, to set things right. God is not Deus ex machina. God is Immanuel – God with (and in) us – the source of all true happiness here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

There’s More to Cherries Than the Pits

“The world is so loud and makes so many demands. Sitting next to you doing absolutely nothing means absolutely everything to me,” said the boy to the tree. Sketches in stillness.com

I went to the store, as is my custom, to pick up a few necessities for the week and found a delicious display of cherries greeting me at the entrance. Cherries are among my favorite fruits of summer, so I looked over the bags of cherry-red goodness lying before me and, as I could determine no discernable differences among them, made my selection and went on with my shopping.

After I got home and put away the groceries, I unbagged the cherries, placed them into a colander, and gave them a good rinsing. I popped a couple of test samples into my mouth (one at a time) to see how they were and must admit they were a disappointment. They weren’t as sweet or flavorful as I had hoped or expected. I wondered if they had been grown on a candle-maker’s plantation. In fact, a smoky flavor might have helped.

That’s OK, though. While they didn’t meet my hopes and dreams for flavor, nevertheless they do contain nutritional value and are likely healthier than the chocolate chip cookies I would have otherwise been eating, so I’m not going to complain. It is also quite possible that some of my ability to taste food items continues to suffer the lingering effects of my bout with Covid a couple of years back. Life goes on and, if I need to, I can delight in pondering how delicious those cherries may taste to others.

I suppose that’s important. I have never been accused of having good taste in anything, and so it has never been important for me to compel others to think like me, feel like me, dress like me, or do things the way I do them. I think it is perfectly fine for me to like what I like, and for you to like what you like, right?

There is a certain freedom that comes with detachment, by which I mean I’m free to be me, and you’re free to be you, and we are each free to own what is ours (feelings, thoughts, ideas, experiences, etc.) and others to own what is theirs. That means each gets to keep their identity. 

For some people, detachment could mean one doesn’t care. If I see my child run into the street without looking both ways and ignore it, that isn’t detachment; that’s neglect. If my child misbehaves in the store and I don’t care how that may be affecting others, that isn’t detachment; that’s hostility by proxy.

No, detachment the way I mean it is how I am able to retain my own identity and still love, care about, and identify with the feelings of others.

When Jesus says, “Love your neighbor as yourself,” he’s asking us to see our neighbor with our eyes and hear them with our ears – not literally, not figuratively, but honestly. We are so often caught up into our own worlds, our own situations, our own messes that we’re unable to see or hear the pain (or joy) of those around us. Sadly, that also means that others are often oblivious to the pains or joys we are experiencing at any given time. That’s isolation, not detachment.

God calls us into community, but our culture values individualism to such a degree that we’d often prefer to fall heck-bent into perdition than take hold of a hand reaching to raise us up to safety. God says it isn’t good for us to be alone. Remember the wisdom of Life cereal’s Mikey: Mikey dared to try Life, and to the great surprise of his siblings, he LIKED it. God is always calling us to try life, too, to learn how to live as individuals and as members of a larger whole.

God calls us into community, which doesn’t mean we lose who we are or sacrifice what we like. What it means is we get to explore the kingdom of heaven more fully, because we see and hear together far more than we ever could alone. To do less would be the pits for us here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

What the Tide Teaches Us About Faith

The Lord grants his loving-kindness in the daytime; in the night season his song is with me, a prayer to the God of my life. Psalm 42

I am thinking of taking a trip sometime this summer, although it may not happen until autumn. I don’t know what’s happening with me. There was a day I could spontaneously get a wild hair up my nether regions, toss a few essentials into my rolling duffle bag, and take off on some wild and bizarre adventure. Not anymore. My spontaneity gene has up and left town without me.

Now I plan and plod. I check out long-range weather forecasts and astronomical charts, put my finger on the calendar, seeking a day where the roads won’t be clogged by tourists or (worse) three day weekends where I’ll have to add a slug of inebriated jack-a-lopes to the mix and, since there is nothing that actually stirs the soul, fold up the map, toss it back into the cupboard, and decide that maybe next year I’ll feel more like traveling.

The paralysis of analysis is a real thing. So is depression (clinical or otherwise). Life is cyclical and sometimes we are just so worn down and beat up by the constant pounding of the surf that we find the bank of the soul eroding and washing away like the banks of the Yellowstone in full flood. The psalmist knows this. 

Life – both regular life and the spiritual life – has its ups and downs. People of faith are often surprised to find the feelings of warmth, love, and joy they might have experienced early on ebbs and flows. They may feel guilty when they discover their faith becoming lukewarm or, God forbid, even cold and icy. They wonder if there is something wrong with them, or if their faith is genuine, or if they have some unknown sin that has disappointed God enough for the good Lord to withdraw favor. Ouch!

No. Feelings are real. The love of God is there whether or not we feel it, just as the sun is there when the clouds or night obscure the fact.

I live close to Puget Sound, and there are times I see nearby Padilla Bay lapping the shoreline next to the roadway, and other times there is a mile or more of mudflats exposed by a tide that has gone out – way out. I love the freshness of the salt-air at high tide, but when the tide goes out, blech!

Sometimes the tide is out in life, and that’s OK. The psalmist doesn’t try to hide his face in shame. He doesn’t try to power through it as if it isn’t OK to feel what he feels. I suspect he might even be willing to punch the nose of any peer who suggests he just “buck up” or “turn that frown upside down!” There are three things I get from this psalm.

First, be genuine. Don’t worry about what others may think or say you should feel. Own your life. Acknowledge what’s happening. There is a commandment that we are not to bear false witness, so we need to be true and honest to self and to God. Putting this stuff down on paper or sharing it with a trusted friend often relieves some of those internal pressures.

Secondly, the psalmist remembers better and brighter times. He remembers that God is eternal, but our circumstances and feelings aren’t. “In the night season his song is with me.” The presence of God often grows warmer and more real in the midst of the assembly, so he makes a point of surrounding himself with the faithful, depending on the warmth of their presence to warm his own soul.

And finally, he listens for the voice of God singing. God sings life into creation. God sings resurrection to a cold, dark, dangerous, and deadly world. When I hear the voice of God singing in the night, I know God is calling. 

Unlike the Sirens who called sailors to their destruction in the ancient fables, God calls us to new life, and if we need to rest a bit, God changes the tune to the lullaby we need and, like the psalmist, I find that very kind, sweet, and loving here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

God Dances With Whales

“Come, Love! Sing On! Let me hear you sing this song – sing for joy and laugh, for I the creator am truly subject to all creatures." Mechtild of Magdeburg

The other day I set about replacing the power antenna on my car with a new unit. The original mast had been snapped off and it seems I can’t do anything lately without getting sliced and diced by anything sharper than a gummy bear. My blood may be O-Negative, but it is positively attracted to anything sharp, especially jagged metals.

I peeled back the carpeting in the trunk and managed to find and remove the two bolts that held the original antenna in place; it all disassembled and came out neatly enough and, I’m delighted to report, without my shedding any blood (yet).  The new device isn’t exactly like what I had removed, so I fiddled with it a little bit to see how it would fit, made the wire connections and, before mounting it, decided to test it to make sure I’d wired it correctly. 

I turned on the car’s power supply, then turned on the radio and – Voila! – the power mast extended … and extended … and within seconds the mast and gear-cable exited the housing! Oops. It turns out the antenna should have been mounted to keep the mast from leaving home. Now THAT would have been a helpful bit of information to include in the instructions, don’t you think?

Warning, do not test the unit without mounting it first!

Life is like that. Not everything comes with warning labels and, while the antenna snafu may be a bit irksome, it isn’t the end of the world. It was assembled by someone somewhere. What one person can do, another can do. I decided not to tackle the re-assembly at that moment because, to be honest, I was fighting allergies, exhausted from all my coughing and sneezing, blowing through reams of facial tissue, and somewhat brain-dead from the antihistamines that seem to stop up gray matter more effectively than yellowish-green matter.

Fortunately, I learned a long time ago not to take things too seriously. None of us is getting out of here alive, so take time to smell the proverbial roses. Life without joy, song, and playfulness is dullishly incomplete. 

Even God plays. The Bible tells us God created Leviathan (a whale or sea monster) “for the sport of it.” Amazing; God plays. God wallowed in the mud one day playing patty-cake with the angels and next thing you know, God created Adam, and then had a rib-tickling idea to create a playmate. Oh, I know you sticklers for the scriptures will say the word is “helpmate,” but the focus of the passage is “goodness” – and for that, God created a woman precisely for goodness’ sake. The purpose of Sabbath (the day of rest) is also for re-creation. God did not make the gift of Sabbath solely to stop our labor, but to promote our well-being and happiness.

Since we were created in God’s image, it seems to follow that we need to play, too – and sing, and dance, and hop, skip, and jump!

There are, to be sure, times for grieving. The past few columns have touched on matters of grief, anger, frustration, death, destruction, wars, and violence. They are certainly constants in our lives, but it seems that if that’s all we look at, that’s all we will ever see, and I’ll be darned if I am going to let the stupidity of dunderheads and transmissibility of viruses get the better of me. 

There is a wonderful church song called The Lord of the Dance. I am not one given easily to cry, but the dam always bursts open when I get to this point in the song: “They buried my body / And they thought I'd gone, /But I am the Dance, / And I still go on …” (© Bardis Music) 

Life is wonderful, despite the woes we see. Greater is the One we do not see! Music, joy, dance, and fellowship enrich our lives. I may find myself spending two years before the (antenna) mast; it may never ever retract, but it’ll never let that get me down here in this, our valley. Dance on!

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Let Us Whistle Whilst We Work

 “Clap your hands, all you peoples; shout to God with a cry of joy!" – Psalm 47

I like to whistle as I work. Why? Because I enjoy work; I enjoy labor (as long as it’s not too intensive, laborious, or hot outside); and I enjoy being productive. 

When one is happy, it is most natural to sing, whistle, or demonstrate the joy one is feeling through the outward manifestations of song and dance. Joy really isn’t joy until the body is involved. If you don’t believe me, just look at your dog’s tail when she’s about to get a treat, or when she hears the family car pull up into the driveway. Her joy is full and uncontainable, and her tail lets you know it. 

My lips are my tail, so to speak. When I’m happy, I whistle. Whistling has the added benefit of letting people know I’m around. It lets them know where they can find me. On more than one occasion my whistling has saved me from getting a door flung open into my oncoming face – and from inflicting grievous bodily harm on others while rounding a dark, blind corner. 

I don’t think anyone else in the family whistles – or at least not that I’ve heard, but that’s OK. Not all are called to whistle. Some hum; others bebop to the beat of whatever’s playing through their earbuds; still others work quietly, letting the peace and tranquility of silence serve notice to the world of an inner harmony. After all, when it comes to happiness, there are no rules – there’s “just right.” 

I think God is a whistler. Astronomers and astrophysicists tell us that they can hear the music of the universe – the music of creation – through their huge radio telescopes. Although I don’t understand the technology they utilize, I understand what they’re saying. The music of the spheres bears witness to the glory of our Creator. 

I don’t think there is nearly enough whistling these days – real or figurative. It seems to me that too much time is wasted firing off diatribes on social media or moaning over news and commentary that assails us 24/7. We need to become a fellowship of Steves (a character in To Have and Have Not, 1944) invited and encouraged to whistle: “... you put your lips together, and blow!”

We live in serious times, of course, but I’m not sure that seriousness is the problem. Life is a serious business; keeping a roof over one’s head and food on one’s table is certainly challenging and trying. It’s nothing to be laughed at or scoffed at, but does it require folks to act so dour and sour all the time? 

It isn’t a question of seriousness, but a lack of thankfulness or heart-felt gratitude (failing to appreciate what we do, indeed, have). I need to ask my more somber brothers and sisters: When faced with a challenge, would you rather find yourself in the company of those who wring their hands and fret, or with those who eagerly roll up their sleeves and dive into the fray with gusto? 

Teddy Roosevelt was one of those people who delighted in diving into a problem whole-heartedly. He was convinced it was far better to try mighty things and fail, than to try nothing and succeed. Life is a great and wonderful gift, given to us by God, and it would be a terrible waste of that good gift if we could not approach life with humility and grace, and tackle the challenges before us with a certain élan begotten by love, joy, peace, happiness, and thanksgiving. 

If I have a choice – and I think we all do – I prefer to live life as a happy fool who dares great things, rather than to live so carefully and soberly that the only evidence of my having passed this way would be a wan, gray trail of veritable slug slime. 

I believe God whistled this, our valley into existence; we do not honor God by slugging our way through life. Rather, we honor God best when we whistle, dance, or clap our hands before him. You and I are God’s Opus; how tweet it is! 

From my lips to your ears, O Lord: Hallelujah!

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Watch Where You Shine the Light

 “Praise the LORD from the heavens; praise him in the heights" – Psalm 148

The world we live in is an angry world. We live in an angry day and age. I don’t know if it has ever been NOT that way, but if there ever was a peaceful time, this ain’t it. I talked last time about breaking chains that divide us, and as unlikely as that seemed to be two weeks ago, events have transpired to make it seem even less likely today.

Don’t worry, though. I don’t do punditry. As a theologian, my job is to shine light into dark spaces. It’s like when I was a child helping my dad work on the car. My job was to hold the flashlight and, as a child, I seldom put the beam where he wanted it, but his fingers were experienced, so as long as the light was in the ballpark, he could do what he was doing and the job got done well enough to keep the car operational for another week.

I think that’s a lot of what priests and pastors do. We shine the light as best we can, and the beam may not land exactly where the people – the laity – the workers – want it, but it’s close enough. Right?

There are times I am overwhelmed by the news, of course. My blood pressure is excellent (honestly) and my healthcare suppliers are always pleased and amazed. However, when I read the news, I can feel it go straight up from whack to Paddy Whack! The temptation is to stop watching and reading the news, but I don’t believe God has called us to withdraw from the world, but to hold on to it even tighter.

Every now and then, children growing up will find themselves overcome with grief, anger, or frustration. Some parents may invite them to stop crying “or I’ll give you something to cry about.” Those parents and guardians do exist, sad to say. What I found more effective, though, was gently pulling the child in for a warm, loving embrace, and just absorbing their angst as long as it might take them to “get it out of their system.” 

Kids need to know they can feel what they feel. Part of a healthy relationship is being open and honest with what’s going on. As I said last time, the world often operates on a transactional level: What I can do for you, and what you can do for me, and what’s it going to cost? Transactional living leads to holding our cards close to the vest, and not knowing who can be trusted and, worst of all, thinking our value is related to the value others place on us.

“Not so among you,” says Jesus. “You are not to lord it over one another like the heathens.”

And that’s the key. So much anger and frustration arises out of our need to be in control, and control is an illusion. I can’t control the weather, or the way my team plays. I can’t control dictators, judges, or politicians. I certainly can’t control the traffic or the people around me. Truth be told, I have a hard enough time controlling myself.

Jesus is the light of the world. Reversing roles, he points the light and wants our fingers to gain experience doing the job that needs to be done. Our role is to be honest and faithful, but more than that, to be loving and kind.

In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus and his disciples find themselves one day passing through an area where the people have rejected him and his message. James and John are miffed and ask Jesus if he wants them to call down fire from heaven to consume that town and those people. That’s their testosterone talking. Jesus (I assume he did an eye-roll at that moment) answered them, saying simply, “No.”

Like a traffic cop, Jesus swings the flashlight and says, “There’s nothing to see here. Just keep moving, folks.”

That is good advice when we find we’ve gotten our panties in a twist. Take a deep, cleansing breath, offer praise to God like the psalmist, and move along – wherever you are in this, our flash-lit valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Wait! There's MORE!!!

Photo found on Tumblr. Photographer unknown and uncredited.

How’s your Easter going? If you’re like me, you may have trouble thinking of Easter as a Season. With Lent, at least you feel like it's a season. Those daily meditations Jen McCabe pulls together help knit the season of Lent together, makes it feel more cohesive.

But Easter always feels like a day.

You’ve got the family gathering and feast at home, and there’s everything we can do to make the day special here in church – the flowers, the bells and whistles – David pulling out all the stops on the organ so this place almost feels like Jericho with the walls just ready to come tumbling down, tumbling down, tumbling down … don’t they?

It’s glorious and mighty. After that, though, everything else is just plain mundane. It is still Easter, but my marshmallow peeps are all gone. The devilled eggs have disappeared. I am down to my last few jelly beans in my candy jar. The lamb from Easter dinner is just a distant memory. 

So Easter is done, at least up here (in the mind). 

It looks like maybe it is done for the disciples, too, doesn’t it?

In the Gospel of John, we have 3 primary resurrection stories; we heard one on Easter Sunday and two more last Sunday. On Easter morning, the women find the empty tomb; they go get Peter and John (who race to the tomb) and they also find it empty. 

John adds a juicy little detail. The napkin that covered the face is folded neatly and set aside. In the ancient near-east, when the Master or the Mistress of the house got up from the table, they would do one of 2 things with the napkin. If they were done eating, they would crumple it up and toss it on the table or plate, and the servants would know it was time to clear the table and clean up.

But if the Master or Mistress folded their napkin, it meant they were coming back (like they had to go “freshen up” or something). So John tells us the napkin was rolled up neatly … In other words, Jesus wasn’t done. It was Jesus’ way of saying: There’s More!!!

It’s like those late night commercials you see on TV. “This is a great product at a terrific price, but WAIT, there’s more! If you buy now, we’ll include a second set absolutely free (just pay the extra shipping and handling)!”

So, there’s an empty tomb and a rolled up napkin. But WAIT! There’s more. The women won’t leave. Mary meets a man she presumes is the gardener. “Where have you taken him?” Jesus calls her by name. “Mary.”

Suddenly, she KNOWS! There WAS more! So she tells the disciples, but they don’t believe her. And John says, of course they don’t, but WAIT! There’s more!!!

John ends the Gospel with those  two final resurrection appearances where Jesus pops in on the disciples in the upper room and says, “Relax. Peace. It’s me. I told you I wasn’t finished. Didn’t you see the napkin? Receive the Holy Spirit – He pours the Holy Spirit upon them right then and there. Just like when God breathed life into Adam in the very beginning, Jesus breathes life into his friends – Take my life and share it with others. Release them from their pain and sorrow. Release them and heal them.”

Poor Thomas, of course, isn’t with them, and he struggles with regret. “I want to believe, but I can’t. What you’re telling me is Science Fiction, fantasy, ghost stories, fairy tales.”

But WAIT … There’s more!

A week goes by. The disciples haven’t moved. The Peace of God hasn’t given them strength to move on. So Jesus appears yet a third time. This time Thomas is there. Wow! There WAS More!!! 

As Deacon Dennis told us last week, Faith and Doubt work together. They really team up to help us wrestle with what it means to be witnesses to resurrection, witnesses to a life unlike anything else we’ve ever really known. Doubt and faith push against each other like those isometric exercises we had to do in grade school. Remember those? Push, pull to strengthen various muscle groups.

So John finishes the Gospel with 3 resurrection appearances: Jesus appears to Mary in the garden and twice in the upper room.

John says, “There’s a lot more I could tell you about Jesus – all the things he said and did – but even the world couldn’t hold it all if I tried to tell you. I just hope this was enough.

And as you and I take a deep breath, John says, But WAIT! There’s More!!!

And that brings us to the lesson today: 

A little time has gone by. At least enough for the disciples to leave Jerusalem and go back home to Galilee (some 80 miles). Easter morning is done. Easter night (without Thomas) is over. Thomas Finding Faith the following Sunday is over. The lamb has been eaten. The wineskins are empty. There’s no more Peeps or jelly beans. The Passover linens have all been put away. There’s no reason to stick around, so the disciples have all gone home.

It’s back to business as usual for them and for us. They’re back on the lake. They’re back to doing what they’ve always done. Fishermen. Tax collecting. Some of them (like Simon the Zealot) might even be back to plotting against Rome. Or maybe they’ve decided to go into this joint venture together, just trying to make a living as fishmongers.

Being followers of the way was fine as long as it lasted, but now what? It was nice to see Jesus pop in those couple of times, but now what? 

It seemed like such a dream. Telling people about what happened – well, they weren’t going to do that! You may as well tell them you’ve seen chariots of fire and wheels within wheels, and fiery bushes, and six-winged seraphim and chubby little cherubim! 

May as well toss in a leprechaun or two while you’re at it and see how many people buy your fish and loaves when you do that!

So they’re out doing what they’ve always done, doing things the way they’ve always done them. They’re running on empty. Their nets are empty. They’re bobbing in boats like corks on a calm day.

But WAIT! What’s this? There’s More!!!

After fishing all night, morning has broken .. like the first morning! While Peter and a half dozen disciples are in the boat near shore, a man walks by on the beach and he calls out to them, “Children, you haven’t any meat, have you?” 

He doesn’t say “fish” by the way. The word is prosphagion, rather than ichthus. It’s what you bring to the table to go with your bread (any sort of meat protein). Jesus says elsewhere, “I am the bread of life … I am the true bread.”

So what Jesus is saying is, “Hey kids, have you got anything to go with me?” But they don’t know that. They don’t know it’s Jesus. Jesus calls them “Kids – Children.” He doesn’t call them friends. Not here. He calls them children. Why?

Because children are curious. They’re young. They’re energetic. There’s a willingness to learn. There’s a willingness to play. 

What he’s saying is, “Kids, you’re taking your business too seriously. Has all your hard work made your lives any better? Besides sweaty armpits, have you got anything to show for it? Have you got anything to bring to the table?”

We sometimes make fun of the disciples, about how slow they were, how dense they could be. But they’re really our stunt-doubles. They’re a mirror we hold up to see what we’re doing, to see how we’re doing. They show us the spinach that’s stuck in our teeth.

But Wait. There’s more!

Jesus doesn’t throw rocks. He rolled away the big stone that plugged up his burial cave. But Jesus doesn’t throw rocks. He plays with his friends like children! 

“The left side didn’t work, did it? Try the right side,” he says.

The professionals know the sea is open. There’s no fence or wall keeping fish from going over here or over there. It doesn’t matter. I don’t even think it’s a matter of whether or not they’ve got anything to lose. Peter, James, John, Andrew, and a couple of other guys throw the nets in, and BANG! It’s like every fish in the sea was waiting for them right there. Their NET profits went right through the roof, And SUDDENLY, John knows it’s Jesus and says to Peter, “It’s the Lord!”

Peter is so caught up in the moment he throws on some clothes and then dives right into the lake and swims to shore. The others just row the boat to shore, pulling the net full of fish with them, and you would think that would be enough. 

But WAIT! There’s more!!!

Time after time after time, Jesus keeps surprising his friends. Jesus keeps surprising us, too. Jesus never wastes his time blaming the disciples for their various shortcomings. He doesn’t berate them for going back to work. Jesus doesn’t stand on the shore going, “Gee, I was hoping you’d have moved on from fishing.”

But Jesus doesn’t do that. He sees what they’re doing, and he helps them find a way to do better. They’ve been working all night, so he invites them to join him for a meal – prosphagion and bread. 

And by now, you know what’s coming, don’t you? Right – there’s MORE!

After breakfast, Jesus knows Peter’s been feeling a little down. And why not? Peter must feel a bit like a loser. When Jesus was arrested, Peter promised to fight, but he ran away, saving his own skin. When Jesus was at trial, big, manly Peter denied knowing Jesus 3 times – to save his own skin. Instead of taking the keys to the kingdom Jesus had given him and building on the mighty work that Jesus had begun, he “turtled,” pulling head and limbs back into the safety and comfort of his shell.

Jesus wants to raise him up, as an outward and visible sign of resurrection, and so he speaks directly to Peter – not to his head, but to HIM. 

So he enters into a brief dialogue that’s hard to communicate in English, because there is some word-play going on in the Greek that translators just don’t know how to open for us, but it involves 2 words that both get translated “LOVE.” Agape, and Phileo. Phileo is the fraternal kind of love we see in families and really close friends – the kind you’d die for, if you had to.

Agape, on the other hand, is less personal. It reflects the kind of love we have for a community, and is better reflected by a sense of fairness and justice. It’s the kind of love we see when there is one drumstick left on the table, and the table rule is this: You must ask if anyone else wants the drumstick FIRST, before reaching out and taking it for yourself. 

That sounds more like LAW than LOVE, but it is what it is. 

So the dialogue goes like this: “Simon, son of John, do you AGAPE me more than these?”

Peter understands civic pride and how Torah keeps things in balance for the most part, so Peter wants to go a step further. He aims for Jesus’ heart when he says, “Yes Lord, you know that I PHILEO you.”

Jesus nods and says, “Feed my lambs.” In other words, get out of your head and take care of our friends.

You know, of course, there’s more. Jesus says a second time, “Simon, son of John, do you Agape me?” 

Peter’s probably a little confused, so he repeats his answer, “Yes, Lord, you KNOW I PHILEO you.” (What a friend we have in Jesus – that’s where my heart is, Lord).

Jesus nods again and says, “Shepherd my little ones.” In other words, move out of your comfort zone; I have work for you to do. These people need your attention. Sheep need more than green grass and still waters, they need someone to walk through the valley of the shadow, too.

But Peter’s not there yet, is he? The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. Isn’t that what we say? So Jesus leaves the Agape of heaven behind, and changes the question: “Simon, son of John, do you PHILEO me?”

Jesus changes the question, and that shakes Peter to the core, because now he’s beginning to understand what Jesus is doing. Just like with the incarnation where God came to us, Jesus now comes to Peter, mano a mano, and Peter says, “Lord, you know everything (how I say I love you, yet over and over I’ve failed you), yet, you know that I PHILEO you.”

Jesus smiles and says, “Feed my little ones. When you were a child, you would go where you wanted and do what you wanted, but the time is coming where that will change. Don’t worry, the cross will find you, but we’ll go through the valley of the shadow together. Follow me.”

That, my friends is the Gospel. Wait, there’s more; follow me!

Prepared to be delivered by Keith Axberg to St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Mount Vernon, WA 05/01/2022 (but not needed, after all)